


Year of the Shake -N- Pour Brownie Mix

by shellfishDimes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Dystopia, Gen, Helmsman, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellfishDimes/pseuds/shellfishDimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Baroness, her Helmsman, an interstellar conquest, and a rebellion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Year of the Shake -N- Pour Brownie Mix

A wasteland, dotted with tiny villages where the inhabitants go for days without food. Where the strong steal from the weak and the weak get weeded out of the population by a government endorsed scheme. A vast ocean riddled with gigantic monstrosities which know no kindness or satiety. An empire that through both violence and relentless propaganda always reminds to keep your head down, submit, obey. An empress, heartless and determined to expand her reign to the furthest reaches of the known universe. A fleet of spaceships manned by the willing and the indoctrinated who, when she orders to kill, ask _How many?_

This is Earth, and it is going to be destroyed in six minutes and twelve seconds exactly. 

The hundreds of ships of the Crockercorp fleet hang in the sky above it, post-box red in the light of the moon. The mothership, the BAT _Condescension_ , dominates them all in size. In six minutes and eleven seconds, they will jump to light speed and leave our solar system to travel to another, smaller one. In order to pave its way towards the interstellar dominion of the glorious human empire, sponsored generously by the Baroness Jane Crocker herself, here is where the fleet will attack, conquer and colonise its first planet.

This planet is known to its people as Alternia.

  


* * *

  


His name is Dirk Strider, and he used to be the most promising robotics specialist and computer expert in the experimental sciences division of Crockercorp. At thirteen, he invented a successful working prototype for the sendificatior. At fifteen, he improved it to the transmaterializer. He was the leader of the team which introduced the concept of robotic imperial drones to replace the faulty organic ones, at twenty, in the Year of the Whipped Cream Cheese Frosting, the fiftieth year of subsidised time, financed exclusively by Betty Crocker.

A year later, when he was the head of applied robotics, the call to arms came. Every able bodied person aged sixteen and over was to report to the nearest imperial army barracks for basic training. The entire planet was being mobilised. The old Baroness had died under mysterious circumstances, and her heiress decided she'd had enough of this old planet and now that the Year of the Shake -N- Pour Brownie Mix was on the horizon it was time for bigger, better things. Rewiring a robot arm in his workshop, Dirk watched her – Jane Crocker with her red tiara, black-haired and buck-toothed and hardly a few months older than him – declaim on the propaganda videos that Earth was old news, its resources were depleted, and there was a whole galaxy out there to explore, claim and conquer. And for that, she was going to need the cooperation and effort of her devout subjects. 

Dirk enlisted the next morning. He was assigned to aviation, and told he was going to be trained how to be a pilot. His unsurpassed skill with robotics and artificial intelligence would be very useful in this position, his commanding officer told him when examining his file. 

They'd sedated him, and he'd woken up grafted to a starship, thick cables stuck into his spine which had been replaced with circuitry and a coil of more cables, a system newly put in place for the purposes of the oncoming invasion, made after a prototype he himself had helped design. They'd cut off his hands at the wrists and his body at the waist, and replaced him with cables, wires and electrical cords. They installed a chip at the back of his neck that fed into the cables of his new spine that fed into the ship itself, so he could hear every floating point operation and see every line of code. The Baroness came to see him in person while the ship was still grounded, and she covered her mouth when she saw him hanging there, head bowed so that his chin was touching his chest with his arms raised. Then she laughed, a hooting, delighted laugh, like a child would after the thrill of her first wild lusus hunt, and Dirk wanted to make her laugh like that always.

His name used to be Dirk Strider. He was twenty-one, and he had friends and lovers that don't matter to him anymore, because now he is the helmsman of the BAT _Condescension_ , and the one thing that is important to him is flying the ship to wherever his Baroness tells him to.

  


* * *

  


There was no place for dissent in Crockercorp – any sign of insubordination was immediately stomped out, all would be revolutionaries either killed or peacefully reintegrated into society, usually by employing elaborate methods of physical torture and brainwashing. 

But something always slips through the cracks. 

Roxy Lalonde was always great at slipping through cracks. When she was seventeen she won the _GameGrl_ competition for an exclusive internship at the programming department of Crockercorp, where she was taught the ropes of coding and inserting subliminal messages into the daily TV programmes. Everyone in Wisteria Lane ate nothing but Suddenly Pasta Salad. Every scene in which Captain Picard asked the replicator for tea, Earl Grey, hot, was replaced with him asking for a Chocolate Banana Yoplait Smoothie. In a year's time, she got promoted to the Department for Peaceful Reintegration, and it was only when she had to create an endless loop of _you sweet talker, Betty Crocker_ and feed it into the brains of rebels that she even knew there was a resistance movement going on. 

After twenty more months she got another promotion, and discovered what exactly the imperial air force pilot training entailed. On New Year's Day, in the first hours of the Year of the Shake -N- Pour Brownie Mix, while drinking away the image of a young man her age lying face down on an operating table, his spine being removed and replaced with a coil of cables which would help information travel between the pilot and his spaceship based on a dynamic data exchange program she'd helped code, Roxy decided she would join the resistance. 

The next morning – or more specifically, later that day – hungover and sleep deprived, she did. They were glad to have an insider in Crockercorp, and advised her to remain on her position in the company. They'd known about the helmsmen for a while, and they had been working on sabotaging some of the ships that were being constructed for the invasion, trying to put a dent in the considerable numbers of the imperial fleet. She was assigned a longer standing member of the resistance as mentor. Only several months her senior, Jake English was the only remaining living member of a family that used to own a company called Skaianet, which had risen to power well before Roxy was born and had been run to the ground by Crockercorp when she was just a baby, all its CEOs and founders killed by the old Baroness. Jake was the main inspiration and driving force of the resistance, and only the rebels knew that he hadn't died by the hand of the Baroness when he was a small boy. Living among them was all he knew.

When the time to conscript came, Roxy pulled all the strings she had at Crockercorp and made sure that the strongest attack force was assigned to the BAT _Condescension_.

They were going to save themselves a pilot.

  


* * *

  


Even with all the advanced technology that Earth possessed thanks to Crockercorp, it would still take eleven months of near-constant light speed travel to reach Alternia. It takes Roxy Lalonde two weeks to hack the security and successfully enter the ship's systems without leaving any trace.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] opened channel with battleshipCondescension [BC] \--

TG: hello?  
TG: helloooooo?  
BC: Hello.   
TG: oh ahaha it wroked whoda thunk  
TG: im the best hell yes i can tttly run .exe fileis as adminisntrator and all  
BC: This is the main chat access channel for the BAT Condescension, registry number CC-011/94. It seems that your security clearance is level two. How can I help?   
TG: ur the polto right  
TG: *polot  
TG: *pilot  
BC: I am the designated Helmsman of the BAT Condescension, activated on March 14, Year of the Shake -N- Pour Brownie Mix. I have been active for a total of 127 days, 88 hours and 54 minutes.   
TG: what is your location  
BC: My mainframe is located on deck BC-897 of the BAT Condescension. This deck is off limits to personnel with security clearance level three or below.   
TG: waht about yoru body?   
BC: It seems you are asking about "yoru body". My databases don't contain any entries on "yoru body", but I could cross-reference with other ships of the fleet. This will take approximately two working days.   
TG: no i meant your body jeez the helmsmans body wheres that  
BC: Please wait.  
BC: Working…  
BC: Still working…  
BC: The pilot's body is usually located in the cockpit of a particular starship, commonly designated as "the helmsblock". The helmsblock of this ship is located on deck BC-5421. This deck is off limits to personnel with security clearance level two or below.  
TG: urgh!!!!!!!   
BC: "urgh!!!!!!!" does not appear to be a recognised query.   
TG: ok can u tell me who the pilto is  
TG: *pilot  
BC: The current pilot of the BAT Condescension is Dirk Strider, born on December 3, Year of the Cherry Orange Wildfire Fruit Roll-Up. Level one security clearance is needed to access the rest of this locked personnel file.  
TG: akfjhsalf waht

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] closed channel --

"Dirk Strider!" exclaims Roxy, thumping her palms on the desk in her and Jake's cabin. "Why do I know that name?" 

Jake sits up from lying prone on the bottom bunk so quickly that he smacks his head on the top bunk, the copy of _Spider-Girl #6: Too Many Spiders! (Not Enough Chocolate Chex®)_ he'd been reading sliding to the floor. "What about him?" he asks, massaging the top of his head. 

"I opened a channel with the ship and it told me that's what the name of the pilot is! Look!" Roxy takes her husktop from the desk, sitting next to Jake on the bottom bunk and showing him the screen, where the window of her chat with BC is still up. She taps a finger to indicate BC's last message, and studies Jake's reaction, the way he chews on his lower lip and pushes his glasses up his nose.

"Golly, I—"

"I've got it!" She smacks herself on the forehead with an open palm, frustrated for not remembering earlier. "He was head of applied robotics, he helped develop the entire helmsmen project! His signature was on all my ship-to-pilot DDE reports."

"Yeah, that's him alright," agrees Jake.

"You know him?" 

Jake shrugs. "You've been told that we've known about the helmsmen even before you joined. Well, that's because of Dirk." He laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up even more than it usually does. "Or I mean, I guess, it would be more precise to say that it's because of me! I was supposed to get chummy with him – under a fake name, obviously! – and find out what the imperial army was working on so we could know how to interfere with their evil schemes."

"Get… chummy," Roxy tries. Jake nods. "Oh, you mean—" He nods again. 

"So!" Jake says, slapping his knees. "When's the rescue mission? It would send a really powerful message to the rest of the movement if we took the _Condescension_ and got the guy who was the main instigator of this entire tangle of thorns. Hey, we may even run into the Baroness, I heard talk that she spends a lot of time with the helmsman! That would be swell, wouldn't it?" He grins widely at her. 

"This is a huge ship, Jake," reminds Roxy. "Even if everything runs smoothly, what do we do once we get him down from there? We'll have half an android-human hybrid and the entirety of the Baroness' personal guard at our throats, not to mention the soldiers as well. There's barely a hundred of us – there's thousands of them, we can't fight them all off."

"We don't have to, Rox!" Jake assures her. "When you cut off the head of the snake, the rest of it is useless." He winks at her, and she offers him a small smile in return. "We're one step closer to taking our freedom back."

  


* * *

  


For someone who is supposed to have been dead for seventeen years, Jake English – or Jake Harley, as he's known on all official identification papers – seems to have more friends and connections than most people who haven't had to hide their identity for fear of execution. He chats with the medical personnel and tells dirty jokes with the engineers, and what amazes Roxy is how they all take it, hook, line and sinker – within three months, a ridiculously short amount of time for a ship as big as the _Condescension_ , he's on first-name terms with nearly all of the Crockercorp staff on board, including the mumbling thirteen-year-old who works in the galley scrubbing stale cake mix out of pots. 

With the help of the connections Roxy built up among some of the underlings in applied robotics, relentless covert work of the rebel mechanics and Jake's amazing skill to make any suspicion slide off him like water, after almost four months of solid work they not only have a pretty foolproof plan on how to break into the helmsblock, but also a pair of robotic legs and hands, ready to go on the helmsman once they free him from the ship.

It's three months until the imperial fleet reaches Alternia, and Roxy Lalonde is lying on her stomach in a ventilation shaft above the helmsblock, a flashlight between her teeth, her hair tucked under a ratty olive beanie. Jake had gone on an excited rant about how all revolutionaries in the movies banned by the government wore recognisable headgear, and he only stopped when she asked him if that meant they would be calling themselves the Green Beanies from now on.

She crawls forward making as little noise as possible, and reaches a grate in the floor. It's three in the morning solar time, well past the designated curfew, so the upper decks are manned only by a skeleton crew. Most of them are supporters of the rebellion, so Jake and the others should have no problem bringing the robo limbs to the helmsblock once she breaks in and lets them through the door. 

Roxy clicks off her flashlight and peers through the grate. The lights in the helmsblock have been dimmed for the night, but she can make out the massive tangle of wires that is the helmsman's post. He hangs among them, skin ghostly white, and then what she thought was a shadow moves, and Roxy realises she's looking down at the Baroness. 

She's never seen Jane Crocker outside of propaganda videos, and it strikes Roxy how young she seems. Jane takes the helmsman's – Dirk's – chin in her hands and lifts his head from where it was resting on his chest. Roxy raises herself up on her elbows, frowning with incomprehension, and then Jane leans closer and gives Dirk a very involved, long kiss. Roxy is just wondering how much longer it will take until she has to break for air when Jane lets his head fall back on his chest again, tucking a stray lock back into his hair. She stands there for several seconds more, watching him, and then she turns away and stalks out, head bowed, the doors of the helmsblock closing behind her with a whisper.

Roxy stares at Dirk, wondering how conscious he is, how much of a human being is left in there, and if he can still feel affection. The severing of a helmsman from his ship is unprecedented, of course – they were never meant to be separated once joined together – she speculates if it would be more humane to just kill him instead. As she watches him, her phone vibrates in her pocket, making her jump and focus on what she's supposed to do.

\-- golgothasTerror [GT] opened channel with tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--

GT: Forgive my botherations but could you get a bloody wriggle on! Weve been sitting here for an uncomfortable amount of minutes and time is of the essence miss slowpoke!   
TG: oh gooosh jaek okay okay the coats wasnt clear  
TG: lmao  
TG: *coast  
GT: Really? We checked everything it was supposed to be deserted!   
TG: yh well  
TG: it wasnt  
TG: i guess your plans didnt inclued the baroenss waxin red for the helmsman and smoochign him on the sucker  
GT: Say what now! Youre not pulling my leg now are you?   
TG: id never do that jake ive seen where those have been  
TG: you naguhty boy what about that midhsipman in engineeenring hmmmmmmmmm?  
GT: He had important information about the night watch shifts! Thats all!  
TG: mmmhmmmmmmmmmm  
TG: and an ass you could richoeht a quarter off and probabyl kill someone with it  
GT: Well talk about this later! Just get us in!   
TG: lolol youre so adorable when you get all flsutered <333  
TG: ok laters smooch smooch

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] closed channel --

Roxy chuckles quietly to herself as she shimmies the grate open and pushes it to the side. She sits on the edge, legs dangling in the air, and then pushes herself off, landing softly on the floor in the helmsblock. She clicks the flashlight back on and shines it into the corners. Nothing. The one security camera that's in the room has been put on an endless loop of the empty helmsblock – Roxy has had enough practice of endlessly looping a few seconds of video feed, so she is invisible to the security officers sitting in their tiny control room peering at dozens of surveillance monitors. Even if the feed does crash, there is a back up: the officers' coffee pot has been laced with powerful sleeping pills which should knock them out in a matter of seconds.

She straightens the beanie on her head, feeling dumb and vowing to give her hair a good, thorough wash the moment she takes it off. Sparing a fleeting glance at Dirk, she goes to the door and pushes a button on the panel next to it. The door slides open with virtually no noise, letting in Jake and two other rebels, all dressed in identical black, form-fitting jumpsuits, slightly less ratty olive beanies pulled low over their foreheads, carrying bulky rucksacks strapped tightly to their backs. 

"Hello! Was there a problem?" whispers Jake as Roxy fiddles with the panel next to the door, locking the helmsblock so they wouldn't be interrupted when they're working.

"Nah, it went smooth as a baby's bottom," says Roxy. "Let's hope it goes as well the rest of the way."

They rush over to the helmsman's pillar. Jake and the other two shrug their rucksacks off onto the floor and start unpacking them. They've gone through the motions when they rehearsed this: it will take them five minutes to empty all of the rucksacks and another eight to finish assembling the robotic legs and lubricate them enough so they can be useable. According to simulations they've run on Roxy's husktop, it takes two minutes and fifty seconds for the robotic limbs to meld with human nerve endings and fuse with the skin. Two minutes for the legs, twenty-five seconds for each hand. Once they get Dirk back on his feet, with the flesh getting used to the metal and his brain getting used to not being hooked up to a very powerful computer, it should take them no more than seven minutes to get from the helmsblock to the designated safe area – a rarely used storage on one of the lower decks, where they've set up a makeshift respiteblock for Dirk in an empty shipping container. That's the easy part, however. The hard part is getting him down from there without killing him in the process.

As the others work on assembling the legs, Roxy shines her flashlight on the thick wires going from the bottom of the pillar into Dirk's torso. There are three at the front, two at the side, and another three at the back, two of which are linked to his spine. There is less on his arms, only one in each wrist: he is held up by the strong cables coiled around his elbows and upper arms rather than those which feed into his nervous system. She takes his chin in one hand, the way she saw the Baroness do it, and lifts his head up. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but open, his irises a vivid orange colour. His skin is so pale she can see the tiny blue veins under it, but she can't shake the thought that he still looks attractive. She wonders if he knew what he was signing up for when he enlisted, and what he feels when Jane Crocker kisses him. 

She waves the thought away, and points the flashlight at his eyes. His pupils contract, and then he blinks and squints at her. Roxy nearly drops her flashlight as he says in a hoarse voice, "Who are you?"

"Re—regular maintenance," she stammers. "I've come for your weekly checkup! Gotta make sure those pretty circuits don't rust!"

He blinks at her again, opening his eyes wider, seeming more awake now. "My last maintenance was two days ago. The next one isn't scheduled until next week."

"Fuck!" Roxy swears. "Jake, you said maintenance was last week," she hisses. 

Jake stops squirting industrial strength lubricant into the knee joints of a robotic leg to look up at her. "They must have rescheduled," he hisses back. 

"I am calling security, you are not authorised to be here," says Dirk. Roxy's heartbeat picks up.

"Sorry, buddy, I can't let you do that," she says, and reaches to the back of his neck, where her fingers feel the bump of the chip that connects his brainwaves to the ship's computer systems. She slides a fingernail under it, and rips it out. 

She doesn't expect the scream.

He screams right next to her ear, with the kind of intensity of pain she didn't think was possible to feel without passing out, and Roxy panics, dropping both the flashlight and the chip in a rush to clamp both her hands over his mouth. It muffles the scream a little bit, but he doesn't stop. 

"Jake! There's a sedative in my pack, get it out!" Jake scrambles for her rucksack, unzipping it and taking everything out – bandages, pill bottles, a knife, a bottle of water and a small white box with a red cross painted on it.

"Where? Is it this?" he asks, trying to shove a bottle of Vicodin in her general direction.

"No, it's in the box, the white box," she says, only glancing at him and returning her eyes back to Dirk. He's stopped, his throat giving out, and he's just looking at her now, his eyes angry. When he blinks, tears roll down his cheeks. Roxy moves her hands from his mouth, stroking his face instead. "Shh, it will be okay, we'll get you out," she comforts him.

"Is it this?" Jake asks again, holding a full syringe with a needle affixed to it.

"Yes, finally! Give it here!" Roxy urges. He hands her the syringe, and she slams the needle into Dirk's neck, pushing the plunger all the way in.

Dirk's eyes slip shut, and Roxy lets go of his face. His head falls forward, chin touching his chest. Roxy exhales sharply through her mouth, and takes a step back.

"Alright, Jake, hand me the knife," she says. "We need to cut him down before anyone realises what's happened."

  


* * *

  


The Helmsman opens his eyes and is met with an unfamiliar sight. The helmsblock was always lit with energy saving lights and he knew their colour the way he knew the colour of his own eyes. This place is very sparsely lit, and the light is an unpleasant, sickly yellow. His head is aching. It feels _empty_ , and then he realises why – he can no longer hear the _Condescension_. 

He can still hear the ship, but it's the same kind of ship that everyone hears. The creak of metal, the soft crackle of electric lights, the whisper of doors closing and opening, but he can't hear what he's heard ever since he became Helmsman, which is the ship living and breathing around and inside him, thousands of operations being processed every second, hundreds of processes running all the time. He used to feel, breathe and see the entire ship, and now he's reduced to just this room, just this body.

How long was it that he's been the Helmsman? Two hundred days? Two hundred and thirty? He can't even remember that anymore; all the terabytes of data coursing through his brain daily has slipped away. He tries to remember how to move. 

He lifts a shoulder and pain courses through his arm: pins and needles wrapped in cotton wool, but pins and needles all the same. They must have given him sedatives. His throat is dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

There was a girl... She was calling someone's name.

A door opens with a metallic clatter as he closes his eyes again, trying to remember. "Oh hey, you're awake!" A familiar voice. "Well that was fast. You're a real trooper, aren't you? You're probably really thirsty, hang on." A pair of hands takes him under his arms and lifts him up into a half-sitting position. Hang on – _sitting_? 

"Could you just—thanks." He opens his eyes for a sliver, and sees someone else bring a bottle to his lips, tipping the water into his mouth. He drinks greedily, feeling moisture return to his throat. 

"I'll bet you have a lot of questions!" the person behind him says. A female voice. Of course: the girl who said she was there for his regular maintenance. "You've been asleep for almost two days! Your limbs have mostly healed now, although I don't think you'll be able to walk properly for another week, seeing as you've not had legs for nearly a year now. I'll teach you how to use your hands; they're pretty powerful so we wouldn't want you to crush babies or anything! The wounds you have from where you were hooked to the ship are going to take a while longer than that to heal, I'm afraid. You'll probably have scars for as long as you live but hey, at least you're alive, right? My name is Roxy, by the way. What's yours?"

"Battleship _Condescension_ , registry number CC-011/94," he says.

"That's not it," a male voice says. "Try again."

He thinks about it for a long time. He can hear his own breathing and the excited breathing of the girl behind him. She's warm against his back, wearing some sort of soft cotton fabric. He opens his eyes further and sees that he's got bandages around his wrists and around his middle –they've recently been changed. His arms don't end in wires – there are two hands instead, metallic grey. He thinks about moving his forefinger. It twitches upwards and then falls down again.

Someone laughs excitedly, and he looks up. There's a young man sitting on the side of his bed, right next to his knees. He realises he has knees. They're made out of metal just like the rest of him from the waist down, but they are unmistakably _his_ knees, and his shins, and his toes. The young man notices him looking and smiles at him. He's dark skinned with a shock of black hair and thick rimmed glasses resting on his nose, and he's got very prominent front teeth. He looks familiar. He has a name. 

"Dirk Strider," he says carefully, saying the first name which comes to mind. Behind him, the girl gasps, but the young man's smile just broadens. He has to have seen that smile before. Looking down at him, maybe, with the glasses off?

"Well done!" the young man says. "See, I told you it would work," he says to the girl – Roxy. 

"Of course," she drawls. "Strike me down for ever doubting you, Jake." That was the name. That was the name she was calling in the helmsblock. 

"I told you," says Jake, "he's going to start remembering everything pretty quickly now that we've unplugged him."

"Your name is Jake," says Dirk, thinking frantically and searching his brain for any kind of recollection. And then it comes to him. "Jake Harley!" he says, almost smiling with relief that he remembered. 

"Actually," says Jake, grinning, "it's Jake English." He leans forward and gently squeezes Dirk's forearm. "Good to have you back, pal."

  


* * *

  


Jake English stands on the bridge of the BAT _Condescension_. The ship is no longer powered by a helmsman – there's just a regular pilot, pressing buttons and pushing levers. Some of the other ships in the fleet still have helmsmen, but the rebels are working on taking them all down.

The rebels have won. The Baroness surrendered after some polite persuasion, and Jake had confiscated her red tiara, snapping it in half on live television broadcast to all the ships in the fleet. She was going to sit in the brig until a fair trial was held for all her crimes. There would be retribution for the fifty one years of Betty Crocker's tyranny. This is going to be the last year of subsidised time.

It's twenty three minutes until the imperial fleet lands on Alternia. The planet is shown on the main viewscreen, grey and unassuming, unaware of the destruction its future holds.

Lord English looks upon his kingdom, and deems it good.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this art of Dirk/brobot](http://plushrumpuspartytown.tumblr.com/post/30593254891) by [Aze](http://buffdaddyjohn.tumblr.com/) and had to write this. Thanks, as always, to [messageredacted](http://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted) for the beta and the enthusiasm. The idea of subsidised time has been shamelessly borrowed from [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infinite_Jest).


End file.
